Finding Home
by DistressedMoonchild
Summary: Harry Potter gets an inside view of house elves’ life. HD. This fic is dedicated to my most devoted and sometimes sole reviewer Calmardaa
1. Prologue

**FINDING HOME** **Prologue**

Forest seemed so big now. Thick black trunks with ugly branches… curvy, serpental… _no, wrong_ – serpentine. And ground – rugged, uneven. It was so hard to run, and he'd been running for so long. Out of breath, so tired. But he had to escape, he had to reach Home. _No, wrong again… _What home? Hog… Hog…Hoglin… Hodsworth… he couldn't remember the right word again. Words seemed to be running away, as he was running from – _don't think, don't think! Danger!_ _Bad!_

There were no words, no thoughts, just fear and desperate wish to reach the Right Place. Yes! He needs to get Home, to find his place, then the pain would stop and he would be safe. And everything will be normal, nobody stalking him_ Enough!_ nobody hurting him_ Stop!_ nobody deforming him… he fell to the ground, unable to breath, his lungs constricting with panic and refusing to let the air in, throat burning from the endless scream. Water, he needed water. He raised his head and sniffed. There was definitely water somewhere near. _How do I know this?_ He vaguely wondered and immediately got the reply: _Wet, it smells wet._ The rational part of his brain _was there still a rational part?_ asked how could anyone smell water. Humans couldn't. He… it… whatever he became could. What did he become? What was done to him?

All thoughts abandoned him as soon as he saw water. He began to approach it, almost running at first, then walking, then taking small cautious steps, then bending a little, lower and lower, until he was crawling, and finally reached it with his lips. And then he looked into the water. And saw. A house elf. Simply a house elf. He saw them before, nothing scary about it. One of them, Dobby, was his friend. Then why the panic, why the sudden urge to scream? They were kind and obliging, always eager to help, to serve. The only problem was that this time it was his own reflection. The realization paralyzed him and disabled completely, depriving his poor abused mind of the last remnants of thoughts.

Bald round head, yellowish skin, his eyes – what a laugh – still green, with a difference that now they were enormous, seeming disproportional on a small face. And then he noticed the last detail. No scar. All his life he hated it so much, really wanted to get rid of it. Looked as if his wish has come true. But what did he become in return? Would anyone recognize him now? Ron, Hermione? Sirius? What would Dumbledore say if he saw him again? Ask why wasn't he in the kitchen? Because that was the place for him, the kitchen, yes. Uncle Vernon was right, he was a freak. Oh, just imagine how angry his uncle would be if he looked like that since the beginning. A freak indeed. The idea almost made him giggle, but he silenced himself in time. It would be dangerous and stupid to make a sound in this place. Besides, he doubted if he would be able to stop this giggling before it turned into real hysterics. Alright, time to calm down. He came here to drink. No thoughts anymore, it was too dangerous. Thinking about his present condition would surely drive him mad, he was not ready to think. Yet.

Now water. Drinking. Tasty, so tasty, so good. He wanted to plunge into it, dark, glistening surface of the pool beckoning to him, calling, expecting. But some ancient instinct immediately told him that not the pool waited for him, but something inside. He could feel hungry eyes lingering on his skin, sticking and staining him. _Danger!_ How stupid it was to get so distracted, to forget that the forest was full of them, hungry, greedy creatures waiting for careless victims. Very slowly, he began to retreat. He didn't dare to stand, to rise from the ground, he just crawled away, inch by inch. Escape to the closest bushes that provided at least some kind of safety took awhile, five minutes or half an hour, he couldn't tell.

As soon as the pool was hidden from his view he leapt to his feet and the mad race began again. Obviously, this might-have-been meeting with _something _helped him in a way, and this time he knew the right direction, knew where the Good Place was. There were no doubts, no fear, only a need to get there, urging him to speed up. He stopped noticing his surroundings; he would never find the road back even if he wanted to. He couldn't even say whether he was in a forest or in a field, was it night or day. There was a dim feeling that it was dark at first, then light, and then dark again, but he was not sure.

Suddenly it was over. He slammed into something, not exactly hard, but warm and solid nevertheless. He bounced back, managing by some miracle to keep his balance, and looked upward. There was the Man standing in front of him, tall and tow-head. The Man regarded him with a casual glance, apparently decided that the disastrous condition of his now soiled robe was far more important and began to brush off his clothes unhurriedly, confident that the creature would stay in place. On completion of the task, the Man returned attention to him and asked quirking his eyebrow: "Who is your master, elf?"

And before the question was finished, Harry already knew two things: that he had found a Home and that his Master was Lucius Malfoy.


	2. Where Are You, Harry?

**FINDING HOME**

**Chapter 1. Where Are You, Harry?**

The house at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, looked absolutely normal outside. People who passed it apparently didn't notice anything wrong about it. It seemed that no one paid attention either to strange figures in grey coats and pants scurrying about the territory and waving sticks in their hands, or to the fact that the windows of the house looked completely black. On the other hand, they were not supposed to. Grey-clothed people took care of that immediately upon their arrival placing concealment, mirroring and distracting charms on the place. Neighbours would not as much as turn their heads towards the house, and even if one of them did all he would see would be a mirror image of the house, an image that his memory would serve to him.

And it was not just a common precaution. For if one were curious enough to stop and look around he would realize that the house did not look normal at all. Its windows were not black. The house inside was. Fragments of walls and furniture that could be normally seen from the windows were black. And strange people were moving hurriedly but in an organized way. Each of them was doing his part of job: scanning the territory for traces of magic, recording location of objects, searching for evidence that could clue them on what in the name of Merlin happened here.

But not only Muggles would find this picture odd. If asked, the investigators in the scene who were used to every kind of strangeness would confirm this opinion. Everything was unusual about it. They were supposed to arrive in a small group, search the territory, clean it up and report to the officials who in their turn would make up a cover story for the incident. Instead new persons constantly appeared in the site and were obviously in no hurry to leave. Dead bodies discovered inside would normally make the investigators nervous and uneasy, but nobody paid much attention to them. It seemed that all present were drawn to one spot on the second floor. A small bedroom. There were two bodies inside; both belonged to wizards who were considered to be dead for a long time. Everyone's attention was concentrated on them, although no one seemed particularly enthusiastic about actually exploring the scene. Most of visitors crowded in the doorway or circled around the bodies not daring to touch them. 

"Aren't you all supposed to be doing something useful?" – a gruff voice pierced through uneasy silence and made at least half of the spectators jump. Alastor Moody made his way through the crowd and approached the bodies. He flicked his wand and with a muttered incantation checked them for any nasty spells or charms that many dark wizards cast upon themselves for protection even in unconscious state against those approaching them. Ascertaining that no guarding spells were at work, the craziest and the best Auror of the Wizarding World proceeded with his research, unceremoniously turning the bodies over. 

"What is your problem, people?" – he went on. "Never saw a dead dark wizard, did you?"

This time one of the watchers, a lanky young man, 25 years old at most, stepped forward and attempted to defend himself. "But- but- t-this is… h-he looks lik-ke…"

"Stop that disgusting stutter right now! Talk if you want to say something!" 

The order seemed to help. "He looks like You-Know-Who. The portrait we've been shown during the classes in the Auror Academy. And You-Know-Who is dead".

"Who told you that?" - Moody interrupted.

"Everyone knows that he has been dead for years!"

"Well, you are too young to be listening to old gossips! And if he is so dead, then why are you still afraid of saying his name?"

The boy reddened and didn't find what to reply. Satisfied with his success at finally managing to shut the irritating creature up, Moody nodded and returned to his rather gruesome task at hand that currently comprised of stripping the dead body and searching it. 

"I need some help here. Strip the other one and search for a Dark Mark. I recognized him. If my guess is right, Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater, and that really ruins the legend of a brave man facing the evil traitor Sirius Black to avenge Potters' death. Seems to me Dumbledore was right as he usually is".

***

The man who was usually right really wished sometimes that he wasn't. Hearing the gentle tinkling of bells announcing someone's approach he closed the book and sighed. Two seconds later a man and a black dog burst into his office.

"Headmaster! What's going on? What happened to Harry?" – the man panted out.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Albus Dumbledore had to suppress a smile. Remus Lupin, an adult, his old friend, and also his colleague once, normally addressed him as "Albus", but in the times of trouble always reverted to "Headmaster" as if subconsciously trusting the older wizard to solve all the problems. Unfortunately there wasn't much the Headmaster of Hogwarts could do for him now.

Before he managed to formulate an answer, the dog transformed and Sirius Black blurted out the question that worried him the most: "Where's Harry?"

This one required a reply, and an honest one. "I am really sorry, Sirius, but I don't know that".

Trying to regain his normal calm attitude, Remus interfered: "Could you at least tell us, Albus, what happened? All we have are some scraps of gossips about You-Kn… Voldemort being dead, and Harry's house destroyed".

"Of course, I will tell you everything I know, gentlemen. Please take your seats. Tea, anyone?"

Both men sat down and shook their heads, too impatient to waste their time with oral answers.

"I will begin with the facts, and if you allow me, will add my assumptions along the way. Last night the Ministry's workers were alerted with an unusual amount of magic energy emanating from the house where young Harry lived with his relatives, Mr and Mrs Dursley and their son. Upon arriving, they discovered several dead bodies: it appeared that Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley and Dudley Dursley were killed with the Killing Curse. All bodies were found in the hall near the entrance, dressed in their nightgowns. Obviously the Dursleys were alarmed by the noise downstairs, hurried there and faced the intruders.

Two more bodies were found on the second floor, in a bedroom that was supposedly occupied by Harry. The door leading to the bedroom had a broken lock on it. Apparently Harry was locked in by his relatives, and the attackers broke in. The dead people were identified as Tom Riddle and Peter Pettigrew.

The cause of their death was an extremely powerful discharge of elvian energy. In fact, the whole house appeared to be affected by it. Walls, ceilings and floors look scorched. There is not a single paper in the house that did not burn to ashes. All furniture blackened, as if charred with flame. This could be considered a result of a common fire, except for the bodies' condition. Aside from a few black marks on their skin, they appear unharmed. As you both know, this is the normal case of elvian magic in action; its influence on living creatures is never visible.

We did not have any explanation as to how an elf appeared in a Muggles' house, until we examined the wands of intruders. The last spell that Voldemort used was the Killing Curse, repeated three times. Mr Pettigrew's last incantation was the Stunning Spell. And before that he used a very complex Transformation Spell".

"Transformation, you said? Not Transfiguration?" - Remus interrupted.

"Yes, exactly," - Dumbledore nodded approving his listener's observation.

"I don't understand what's the difference," - Sirius frowned.

"Transformation is much more complex magic. Transfiguration spells simply turn the physical shell. You can transfigure a frog into a cat but it will still think like a frog, whereas transformation will alter the creature on both physical and mental levels," – clarified Remus.

"Now we are moving entirely into the field of guesses," – went on Dumbledore. "I believe that Pettigrew applied this spell to Harry…"

"That son of a bitch!" – Sirius jumped from his seat.

"Please calm down, Sirius. Strange as it may sound, I don't think that this spell was intended to bring harm to Harry. I believe that Peter Pettigrew was finally trying to repay his debt protecting Harry in the only way he could think of. Realizing that Voldemort was too powerful even if opposed with his and Harry's combined powers, he turned Harry into the only creature that can easily disappear unnoticed unless controlled by its master – a house elf.

But before he could hide Harry, Voldemort who as I assume was distracted by Dursleys discovered them both. And Harry, obviously not realizing what happened to him and unable to control his energy, let out his newly found magic. Although this fact is not widely known, unbound house elves are surprisingly powerful and can be quite dangerous if threatened".

"So Harry did kill Voldemort after all? Or does the history repeat itself and the Dark Lord is just biding his time again?" – quietly asked Remus.

"Yes, he did. Voldemort is indeed gone forever. But Harry would never accomplish it if Voldemort wasn't stunned by Pettigrew the second he entered. Voldemort's ability to separate body and spirit was what saved him the first time. This time the Stunning Spell did not allow him to let go of his body. He was subjected to the full discharge of a house elf's energy".

"Does… does it also mean that Harry is dead? That this discharge killed him as well?" – Sirius began to shake.

"No, I am absolutely certain that none of this happened. As most magical creatures, a house elf is immune to his own power. I have no doubt that Harry is alive. The problem is that at the moment he is most probably confused and scared. He does not understand what happened to him and cannot think straight. As I said before, he is unbound, and this condition is not normal for house elves".

"But surely there is a way to reverse the spell?" – questioned Remus.

"There is. I already found one," - agreed Dumbledore. "But as you understand this will require Harry's presence. We can only hope that he will manage to reach Hogwarts or that one of the Ministry workers finds him soon".

"Are you implying that he is still in danger, even with Voldemort gone?" – wondered Sirius.

Dumbledore sighed. "His present condition is dangerous. An unbound house elf subconsciously seeks for a master. There is great likelihood that he will attempt to reach Hogwarts. In that case it is quite possible that he will meet a wizard along the way. And Harry will recognize him as his master. Then Harry's fate will depend completely on his master's will".

"We must prevent it! Who knows what this person would do to him? We have to find Harry first!" – Sirius bolted from his seat once again and headed to the entrance.

"Sirius, calm down! Even with Peter dead, you are still not acquitted from the charges! You cannot appear in public like that!" – Remus ran after him.


	3. A New Life

**FINDING HOME**

**Chapter 2. A New Life**

It took him a few days to put his chaotic thoughts into some resemblance of order. At first it was a whirlwind of impressions, strange feelings, new words, new concepts, new voices leaving an imprint in his mind. The most important voice was categorized immediately: his Master.

Lucius Malfoy was the Master. Their meeting was the first distinct memory in his new life. He saw the tall, proud man and everything fell into place, his panic fear changing into calmness and understanding. This was the Master, he would make it alright, he would care.

He couldn't answer the Master's first question, no words formed in his head. But luckily the Master knew what his problem was right away. He was wise and could be trusted.

"You don't have a master?"

Head shake.

"Strange… Follow me, then"

This was an order, and orders were to be obeyed. He followed the Master, and it was indeed a right thing to do, as the Master brought him to the House. The House was magnificent, an imposing stone castle of light grey colour. As they approached the gates securing the House from other lands, the Master raised his wand and waved it. The gates opened. It proved once again that his Master was a great wizard and he was very lucky to find him.

The Master led him inside the House and snapped his fingers. A creature that looked just like him appeared and stared at the Master expectantly.

"This is…" The Master looked him over, his glance lingering on black spots that covered his yellowish skin. "Spotty. A new one. Arrange him"

The elf's name was Tossy. She hurried away with Spotty as soon as the Master finished his sentence. Spotty was reluctant to leave the Master, but he didn't want to displease anyone. He tripped after his instructor who galloped through the House poking her finger at various objects and muttering comments. Only after exchanging a few phrases Spotty realized that the language they used was not English. This was the language for creatures like him and Tossy. For a human ear it would sound like incoherent babble, but of course humans were not supposed to waste their time listening to it.

Spotty did not understand how he began speaking this language all of a sudden, but he couldn't dwell on it. There were too many things to be learnt.

***

Sometimes Spotty found himself attempting to remember things that were before the House. But all he had were odd flashbacks of green light, strange sense of heat, screaming and fear. These flashbacks were very disturbing and Spotty tried to push them out if his head. This new life was easier, nicer; Spotty didn't want any other. He was happy here.

The first few days revived in his head some other memories, old and vague. A long time ago, there was a place where everything was new, fascinating and unusual, a different life he had to get used to. Spotty couldn't recall what it was all about, but this felt the same way.

The House was huge, with spacious halls, intricate decorations and a lot of light. He loved it from the first sight. It felt as if the House was communicating with him, every room was inviting him in, each object asking for his attention.

His task was to take care of the House, keep Order of things. Every single thing had its own place in the House, if it was misplaced Spotty had to find it, repair if broken, clean if dirty and put back.

The House was perfect. Unless he ruined the perfection himself. And this was one of the worst things that could happen to Spotty. He became distressed even if somebody else upset the balance in the House, but if Spotty were to blame the consequences would be disastrous. Sense of guilt was absolutely heart wrenching.

Once he ran off into the garden to pick fresh flowers (Lady Narcissa herself showed him specifically what orchids he could cut for decorating the table for breakfast), and forgot to wipe his feet before entering the House. He left an ugliest brown imprint of mud on the parquet. Just one imprint because he immediately realized his mistake and froze with the second foot raised in the air, not daring to move. Luckily Daffy, a scrawny house elf with brownish skin, saved him from perpetrating further crimes against the House throwing him a rag to clean his feet. Spotty spent two hours polishing the parquet in attempt to make up for the misdeed he committed against the House and mentally cursing himself. Of course this accident was nothing in comparison with the case when he broke a teacup. Bruises did not fade for two weeks. At first he was horrified with this strange urge to cause pain to his own body after doing something wrong. But there was no choice in this matter; it was obviously a part of his nature. No master could ever punish a house elf harsher than an elf himself.

Order-keeping was one of the tasks of every house elf. The second one, even more important than the previous, was Care for the Master. The Master was the one who ruled the House, the one who made the decisions. His word was a Law. Master had also a Lady and a Sibling. These were not as important as the Master, but were to be worshipped, too. Sometimes others who smelled like Master visited the House. Spotty knew that they were called Relatives. He respected them but not as much as the Master, the Lady and the Sibling.

All of them were superior and house elves' duty was to keep them pleased. The most horrible thing that could ever happen to a house elf was to cause the Master's disapproval. Smallest frown on the face of the Master would result in a burn, scratch or bruise on Spotty's skin. It didn't even depend on whether the Master wanted to punish the elf or not, his mere discomfort was enough to evoke total distress in every house elf, and elvian mental distress normally resulted in physical damage. Of course, the Master was kind and generous and he always stopped his house elves before they killed themselves while indulging in yet another self-inflicted penalty. Spotty noticed that his sense of guilt evaporated momentarily if he received the Master's forgiveness.

_A/N: Well, it was probably very boring – but I just wanted to describe the way I see a house elf's life (frankly, I never believed that Dobby was abused by his masters). More action in the next chapter, I promise. It would be nice if you reviewed, by the way. I am planning on completing this fic anyway but I tend to write faster if inspired :) Huge thanks go to Lady of the Dawn, Kathleen (my plot is unique? *furiously blushing*), Fanny chan, Maitiu, Calmardaa…_

_Oh, and before anyone asks (again!): I promised H/D slash but it is not coming until Harry becomes human! My mind is not *that* perverted._


	4. A Strange House Elf

**FINDING HOME**

**Chapter 3. A strange house elf**

"Draco, come here. There is something I'd like you to have a look at."

Lucius Malfoy beckoned his son to enter his cabinet. It was half past eight, and the dinner at Malfoys' just ended. Draco stood from the table and eagerly followed his father. He was rarely invited to the cabinet, and would never miss an opportunity to visit Lucius' private room where nobody aside from very important guests was normally allowed. Lucius did not even permit their house elves to clean the place.

The room was separated from the rest of the Manor with intricate web of moving stairs leading up and down, constantly changing directions dark corridors with viciously whispering portraits hanging on the walls, and considerable number of closed doors charmed to open only for certain people. All this ensured an uninvited guest to be led astray in a matter of minutes.

Draco was fairly sure that a certain amount of skeletons of those unfortunates would be found in unused and abandoned rooms whether anyone ever bothered to search. Of course, no one did. None of their ancestors were exactly worried if their unwanted guests disappeared mysteriously. And the Manor always acted in the best interests of its owners, not letting those who were needed for conducting business in future to disappear. Draco himself witnessed several times how the Manor chose shorter or longer routes for the visitors obviously depending on their status. It could take a guest from fifteen to fifty minutes to get from his bedroom to the dining hall (any Malfoy would cover the same distance in five).

But Malfoy blood or not, the Manor was still relatively unpredictable sometimes when not dealing with its one and only master Lucius Malfoy, and Draco was trying to keep up with father's pace. He really did not want to spend several hours roaming empty corridors, and he knew this could easily happen if he lost sight of Lucius. That's why he sighed with relief when they finally reached the destined place.

Father laid his right hand on the doorknob in the form of a gargoyle. That was another thing that only the master of the Manor could venture. Draco distinctly remember how the nasty creature almost bit his finger off when he tried to grasp it on his first visit here. On Lucius' touch it didn't even move, appearing absolutely immobile.

Lucius went inside, and Draco followed him, cautiously distancing himself from the door.

The premise they entered had a deserted look, just a large windowless room, with an oval table and a few chairs in the middle covered with a thick layer of dust. Lucius Malfoy took out his wand and quickly drew an undistinguishable figure in the air with it. The scenery momentarily changed, the ceiling began to glow revealing a spacious cabinet decorated in dark wood, rows of shelves along the walls occupied with books, intricately ornamented boxes and crystal vials, and a violet and silver tapestry with Malfoy crest. Lucius headed straight to the oval table in the middle of the room, thick crème carpet on the floor absorbing the sound of his steps. Draco who preferred to avoid unnecessary moves in this place sat in one of the chocolate-coloured armchairs that occupied the corners.

His father approached the table and picked a parchment that was previously disguised by the concealment charm along with other papers now covering the table surface. He handed the parchment to Draco with a nod encouraging him to read.

A quick glance proved to Draco that it was definitely not a type of a paper that one would like to be found in his house. It was one of those strange reports his father seemed to receive out of nowhere that promptly informed him of all recent events in the Wizarding world including strictly confidential memos that coursed through the Ministry of Magic.

This one was a copy of a report of Derrick Donnelly, the Senior Auror who inspected Potter's house.

"Well Draco, what is your opinion of this?" - Lucius inquired.

Draco shrugged, not quite sure what reaction was expected from him.

"Don't you find this coincidence a little strange? Voldemort is discovered dead in the house where Potter was living, with the evidence of elvian magic being used, a day later an estranged house elf appears in my property…," - commented Lucius. "Did you notice anything strange about Spotty?"

"Spotty?". The name seemed unfamiliar to Draco.

"The new house elf. Really Draco, I know there's no need to remember all of those creatures' names, but this one is a newcomer. You should pay more attention to things that happen in our house," - Lucius remarked reproachfully.

"Oh, that one. Well... he watches me a lot, and elves generally don't do that. And sometimes he acts as if he doesn't know a thing about housekeeping."

"How so?"

"I noticed him once wiping the dinner table with a rag instead of blowing the dust off as they normally do, until another elf stopped him. Then I saw how he broke a plate and didn't repair it immediately. He gathered the pieces and ran off."

"How… interesting," - Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Did you know that when I let him in he asked me where he was going to sleep?"

"But house elves don't need sleep!" - Draco sounded astonished.

"My point exactly."

Now Draco was worried. "Father, do you think that he works for the Ministry? Maybe he is not an elf at all, he is a spy, and this is a plan to expose you!"

"No, I doubt that the Ministry would use a house elf for such a task. They are dumb, but not total idiots. A house elf would be too faithful to his master. I also guessed at first that this is a human disguised as a house elf, but I've never heard of a spell or potion powerful enough to achieve such an effect. Besides, we shouldn't forget that use of elvian magic was indeed reported from the scene of Voldemort's death."

"So Spotty is really a house elf?"

Lucius smiled. "That we will find out very soon."


	5. Shedding Skin

**FINDING HOME**

**Chapter 4. Shedding Skin**

This was a very good day for Spotty. In the morning he managed to drink his milk without any interruptions. There was that damned Siamese cat that every day tried to steal his milk. And it often succeeded since it was the Master's cat, and Spotty could not hurt it or chase it away. Thus his morning normally began with a hide-and-seek game with him attempting to find a corner where the infernal animal would not discover him and his precious milk.

As every house elf, Spotty had only one type of food he could accept. For some it was eggs, bread, porridge… It took Spotty four days of starvation to find out what his was. Sometimes Spotty thought that it would be better to feed on bread. At least the cat would not be interested in stealing his breakfast. As it was, he often ended hungry and covered in scratches. Elves, both forest and house ones, could take meals only at dawn, so bereft milk meant hunger for the rest of the day.

This time the cat was obviously distracted and he drank the whole bowl. And it was only the beginning of a good day. Spotty did a lot of things today. He found a silver spoon that evidently was lost by the Masters several years ago, removed an ugly inch-wide brown spot from a dark blue tapestry (in the Master's bedroom, no less!), and now moved on to polishing the grand staircase. The last task was especially hard because nobody was supposed to see him.

One of the main requirements for a house elf's work was to remain unseen while performing the task. Being noticed by any human or even worse – by the Master himself – while an elf's presence was not asked for meant a disgrace. It was much easier to work at night since the risk of being caught sight of lessened significantly, but Spotty needed sunlight for this work. Only natural light would allow him to estimate glitter of bronze banisters.

He was on the seventh stair when he heard the call. As all house elves, Spotty always heard his Master's call, even if it was whispered.

Sliding through the walls Spotty appeared in his Master's cabinet within seconds. He was already shaking with anxiety. What if the Master was displeased and would send Spotty away? This was the main fear of every house elf – to become homeless.

Spotty looked around nervously. The Master was not alone, the Young Master was here too. Maybe _he_ was angry with Spotty?

"Sir, you calling Spotty?" – he squeaked.

He knew that his question was incorrect but human words eluded him since… since when? Spotty could not say "when". His life began when the Master discovered him. Topsy said once that a house elf's life started when he got a master and it was normal to have vague memories about his past. Spotty was not sure about this. His memories were not vague, there were none. He remembered a flash, screaming, heat, running and... that was all. No matter how hard he tried, his memory remained empty.

Both Masters were watching him curiously, as if there was something strange about him.

The Young One finally said: "Father, are you going to interrogate him?"

The Master shook his head. "I scanned his memory a long time ago. It is no use. He does not know a thing."

Then he raised his wand and beckoned for Spotty to approach him. Spotty complied.

"Close your eyes, elf."

Spotty obeyed and immediately felt that something was pressed to his forehead, perhaps the wand that Master held in his hand. The Master began to say some strange words that Spotty did not know. At the same time they sounded strangely familiar… as if he knew this language once.

Suddenly pain pierced through his entire body. It felt as if all his muscles cramped at once, even his throat constricted not allowing him to cry out. It went on for a minute or two, and then everything turned black.

A loud exclamation was the first thing he heard.

"Merlin, this is Potter! Father, look, it's Potter!"

"Yes, Draco, thank you very much for this astute observation. I would never guess without your help."

"Potter was our house elf! I can't believe it…"

"Instead of standing here and gawking, better bring him clothes. He cannot walk around in these rags."

"You are not going to change him back?"

"Draco…"

"What? What did I say? I just thought it could be fun now that we know who he is."

"Draco…"

"Alright, alright, I'll go and find him some clothes. But I still don't understand why we should miss such a wonderful opportunity."

"Draco, NOW! And when I say "clothes", I don't mean a tablecloth. I mean decent clothes from your wardrobe. You have five minutes before I go and choose them myself."

Hastily retreating footsteps.

_A/N: I am probably asking too much, but it would be nice to know if someone reads it. Even if you think it sucks, I would appreciate it if you shared your opinion, so that I could stop wasting time on this story and erase it. So please review._


	6. Heroes Identification

**FINDING HOME **

**Chapter 5. Heroes Identification **

The air in the crowded room was so thick that it was getting hard to breathe. And Harry was still wrapped in the stupid blanket like a baby! He would gladly take it off, but a quick check already confirmed that he was naked under it. And no matter how hot it was here, Harry would rather suffocate than allow all these reporters to post a description of his "fragile body". Only several months ago, he actually thought that Rita Skeeter was the worst of their kind. How wrong he was… 

But damn it, when would they leave him alone already? He was brought to St.Mungo's not to be demonstrated to whoever was interested, but to be examined. At least that's what Minister Fudge assured him of. 

The desire to throw off the blanket was growing. Aside from the heat, his spots were itching again. Harry hated them already. The mediwitch who examined him said that those spots will most likely stay, as they appeared when he was still an elf. Although we can heal both humans and elves, she explained, no magic could rid a human body of marks of elvian origin. It would require a combination of two types of magic that simply did not mix.

Now Harry was doomed to wear little _itching_ black spots covering his hands, neck and shoulders. Thankfully, there were none on his face, probably because he shielded his face when all hell broke loose. This was the last thing Harry remembered from the encounter with Pettigrew: first pain, as if he was turned inside out, then Voldemort's entrance, realization that he had no means to protect himself, not even his wand was at hand, but he needed to stop Voldemort, and then, then... insufferable heat all around him, piercing into his skin, there surely had to be flames, it felt as if he was burning alive, he could not see anyone anymore, both Voldemort and Wormtail were gone, and he had to escape, so he ran off, unseeing and confused.

But damn, this itch was awful! How could it be that wizards healed broken bones with one touch of a wand, but could not remove a few little spots? All he got was an advice to wash his skin with cool water whenever the itch started. An idiotic recommendation. Even a Muggle doctor would do better! At least his face remained unscathed. The thought of possible nicknames Draco Malfoy would invent for Harry if he had both a scar and spots on his face, was dreadful.

A cheerful voice reached Harry's ears, and he almost groaned. Not Lucius Malfoy again! Harry knew what was coming. Malfoy would parade into the room, drape his arm around Harry's shoulders and proceed to introduce the reporters to the hundredth version of I-Found-The-Poor-Child-Deep-In-The Woods-On-The-Brink-Of-Death-And-My-Heart-Almost-Broke-At-The-Sight. With each retelling, the tale became more and more detailed and heart-wrenching. 

Harry did not recall anything that happened since he rushed out from his bedroom at the Dursleys', but he could bet that Malfoy was lying. He had to be! Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater and a complete bastard. If he found Harry Potter dying, he would sit back and enjoy the show rather than take "the poor child" home. 

But there were facts that Harry could not deny, things he was told at St.Mungo's by the personnel… Lucius Malfoy was the one who reported about discovering Harry, it seemed that the bastard even healed most of his wounds. So it must have been a voluntary decision on his part to bring Harry to the hospital. 

It was very confusing. Harry could not decide how to behave around Malfoy. On one hand, the man was his savior, on the other, he was Evil and had to be playing at something. 

"Judging by the solemn look, I would think that you either are deep in thought or suffer from a stomachache," the voice spoke into Harry's ear suddenly, and the boy jumped. 

Harry jerked up and realized that all the reporters once flooding his room were gone, and he was left alone with Lucius Malfoy. No need to feign gratitude then. Harry scowled. 

'What do you want from me? If you expect a medal for my rescue, I don't have it. You will have to ask Fudge." 

The blond man smirked. "I am afraid I will have to satisfy myself with a little publicity, since they have no medals left. They already granted all rewards they had to the Brave Peter." 

"Huh?" Not the best reaction, but Harry could not care less about impressing Lucius Malfoy with his eloquence. 

"I am talking about our darling Peter and his posthumous rehabilitation. I bet your godfather is mad with fury now…" 

That got Harry's full attention. "What do you know about my godfather?" he asked worriedly. 

"Oh, everything. This little boastful rat would not shut up for a minute whenever he sneaked into my home. I would happily poison him if it was not the risk of offending Voldemort." 

Wait. Peter – Wormtail – hero?! Harry shook his head, still uncomprehending. "You mean Peter Pettigrew? Why would they call him a hero?" 

Lucius slightly tilted his head, studying Harry. "But of course he is a hero… When You-Know-Who found a way to get to the Boy Who Lived, our fearless Gryffindor who spent so many years pretending to be dead and spying for the Ministry, followed the dark wizard and killed him before any harm could be brought to the defenseless child."

Malfoy paused, obviously taking pleasure in watching Harry's expression changing from puzzled to horrified, and went on, apparently quoting a newspaper article from memory: "Even at school, Peter showed deep interest and keen understanding of ancient forms of magic. Now, many years later, he applied this extensive knowledge in the most critical hour, when the fate of the whole world depended on him. Unwavering, the man stood in the way of the darkness threatening to swallow yet another innocent victim…" 

"But Pettigrew betrayed my parents! And Professor Dumbledore told me that it had been my magic that had stopped Voldemort. Elvian magic," protested Harry forgetting for a moment about his initial intention to ignore the man. 

"Come on, Potter, do you really think that a wizard with any self-respect left would allow oneself to be saved by a mere house elf? And you _were_ a house elf when Voldemort died. Can you imagine what the idea of a house elf defeating the most powerful dark wizard alive would do to the house elves community? The Ministry would never let such a nonsense reach public ears and turn our world upside down. Now, what were you saying about Pettigrew betraying your parents? Keep in mind that there is no proof to your accusations." 

Harry's eyes burned with indignation. "This is true! You know it is! Wormtail is a traitor and a Death Eater! I will tell them!"

Lucius smiled indulgently. "According to the official version, Pettigrew was working undercover. After failing to protect Potters from Sirius Black, he continued to fight for the Light, joining Voldemort to find out about his plans. He gave a vow to defend little Harry, even if it would cost him his life," Lucius sighed. "I never guessed Fudge had a thing for romantic stories, but it took him no more than ten minutes to turn a Death Eater into a self-sacrificing hero."

Lucius Malfoy headed to the door. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he added: "Have a nice day, and don't forget that our official press conference will be held tomorrow, 11 am. Do try to keep silence there. If you let me do all the talking and won't forget to nod in the right places, perhaps you will manage to avoid some unpleasant situations. Nobody is interested in hearing your version. If you fail to follow the stream, you will probably end up in _another_ department of St.Mungo's. It would be fairly easy for the press to turn the Boy Who Lived into the Boy Who Lost His Sanity." 

He disappeared behind the door, leaving Harry to ponder if this last phrase should be considered a threat.

_A small author note:_

_First, I would like to apologize for making you wait so long for this update (if anyone waited, that is). I got distracted with writing the sequel for The Arrangement that, as you may have noticed, is now posted. Of course, you guys could always do something to make the next chapter appear faster... Reviews do have this stimulating effect on me *wiggles eyebrows*_

_Now to all those who left their comments for the previous chapter: _**Natalie**_, _**leggy-stinks**_, _**Blake**_, _**Ryllis**_, _**Sime Fireblaze**_, _**MOI**_, _**Nez**_, _**nightwing**_, _**Khissa**_, _**sras**_ (one hundred points for getting into my concept of house elves! And yes, I am not quite done with those creatures in this fic), _**Anni**_, _**Calmardaa**_, _**litecrystal**_, _**SBBO**_ - thank you very, very much. It makes me so happy to know that you read and enjoy the story!_


	7. Accommodating Anew part 1

**FINDING HOME**

**Chapter 6. Accommodating Anew (part 1)**

Harry tossed and turned for quite a while before giving up on sleep completely. Something told him that if he did not fall asleep in five hours after going to bed, it was unlikely he would get any sleep at all. Besides, there really was no point in a three hours' sleep.

He was not surprised that he stayed awake for so long. The day before was filled with unpleasant events that went through his head again and again. He expected his return to Hogwarts to be pompous and noisy, with reporters following him to the school and then prolonging the torture called "press conference" at Hogwarts. Instead he was waken up in the morning by a nurse, who gave him new robes and let in Professor McGonagall as soon as he was ready. Professor greeted him rather warmly and asked to hold on to a silver-encrusted powder-box she emerged from her purse. Harry remembered his astonishment at seeing such a female object as a purse in the hands of his strict Professor, astonishment that only deepened when he noticed the powder-box. Professor McGonagall was using cosmetics? Unbelievable.

Well, in the next second his surprise dissipated, as he automatically touched the powder-box held to him, and was overwhelmed with the familiar tugging sensation. Harry found Professor McGonagall and himself at the foot of the staircase leading to the Gryffindor Tower. Of course, the powder-box was simply a portkey. Why would a witch use such a Muggle object?

He was led to his dormitory and discovered that all his belongings were already there, laid accurately onto his bed. Professor left him there, only to be immediately encircled with an horde of excited Gryffindors who all noticed him when he was passing the common room. And only after the tenth round of "I don't remember" and "I don't know", the phrases that became an inherent part of his lexicon after a dozen of interviews, he was left alone.

This conversation seriously exhausted him, and the most disappointing part was that Ron and Hermione, instead of protecting him, played the most active roles in the interrogation. He was a bit upset that they did not visit him in the hospital. Harry understood that it was an irrational offence, they had classes to attend and could not easily sneak out to St.Mungo's, but he did need their support back then.

And their attitude was... strange, to say the least. Hermione began to ask him about the aspects of being a house elf, if he felt anger towards wizards, if he enjoyed his freedom while being in the forest, did he meet any of his brethren there who also broke free from the chains of slavery... And there he was, hoping that her 4th year's obsession passed.

He would laugh over it with Ron and tease Hermione about it, but his best friend's behaviour was even odder. He seemed constrained and every now and then would give Harry a glance over, as if making sure that this was really Harry. Finally his thoughtless "It must've been horrible to be one of _those_!" phrase in the corridor with a nod in the kitchen's direction explained it all. Harry realized that Ron was having a hard time overcoming his natural disdain for inferior creatures. And being a pureblood wizard, he saw house elves as those beneath him, even though his family never had any of their own. He could act friendly towards Dobby, but would never consider a house elf his equal.

Harry wondered bitterly if Ron would prefer him to have been turned into a Dementor. These creatures were way more respected than house elves. 

It hurt. They were his best friends, and although they did not do anything awful, he expected more from them.

Harry sighed. If only it was his only trouble. But lack of tact on behalf of his friends was a mere trifle compared to the meeting he had later in Dumbledore's office. Right after the dinner, the Headmaster asked him to come for a talk.

When he walked in, the office appeared to be empty. Then a large black dog emerged from behind the Headmaster's desk and transformed into his godfather.

"Sirius!" Harry rushed forward, but paused when only one step separated them. He never knew how he should act around Sirius. Something told him that it would be absolutely natural to hug his gofather, but he did not have any experience with those things. What if such a display of emotions would embarrass Sirus? Harry even thought once about consulting Ron or Hermione about this, but decided that it would sound stupid: asking his friends how he should behave around his own godfather.

It seemed that Sirius had the same problem. He made a move forward, then changed his mind and stepped back, smiled, and at last settled for raising one hand and patting Harry on the shoulder. Harry responded with a wide grin. This ritual of saying hello satified both parties.

Done with formalities, they separated and moved to the large comfortable-looking sofa near the far wall of the office. Harry never sat on it before, most of his time in the Headmaster's office was spent sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk, staring the Headmaster in the face. Since Dumbledore was absent, it was probably alright to take a less formal position.

This was their first meeting since the one at St.Mungo's. Harry knew how desperately Sirius had tried to find him, Professor Lup... Remus told Harry that he all but had threatened to restrain his friend from rushing through Muggle towns in search for Harry. They saw each other at last in the hospital, but Sirius did not even have a chance to transform into his human form back then, with all the wizards running around and checking on Harry. He hid under Harry's bed licking his hand every now and then to express joy about his godson's return. Some reunion.

They both sat on the sofa for a few minutes, not saying anything. Harry would tell Sirius everything about what happened to him - in his head, he began to refer to it as an "adventure", somehow this term made it easier to deal with - but he knew that Professor Dumbledore most likely already told the whole story. Not that there was much to tell anyway: shouting, fear, flash of light, pain, running, more running, darkness, waking up. With bitter irony, Harry had to resume that his previous encounters with Voldemort were more... exciting.

Sirius was the first to break the silence. He took a deep breath and started, eyes turned downwards: "Harry, I-I probably will have to leave for a while. I don't know for how long, so I just wanted to say goodbye."

It was a shock. Harry should be prepared for this, after everything he heard in the hospital about Peter's newly restored glory, but it was a shock nevertheless. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he whispered: "When?"

"Now, I am afraid," Sirus raised his eyes at him and continued. "This whole thing about Wormtail... I don't understand this, I don't know how could they make him a hero _again_, but it is getting dangerous for me. Before this, I had a little hope that they will listen, maybe interrogate me with Veritaserum, maybe he would get caught or at least somebody would see him and confirm that he is alive. Now they got the facts, and they still managed to pervert the truth. Nobody will question me if I get caught. Peter is a star now."

The lump was growing.

Sirius grasped his hand. His voice acquired apologetic notes. "I thought about staying, but I am so tired, Harry... so tired of hiding. I never imagined it would be so hard, to turn around every minute, to place wards around every damned place I stay at for more than one hour so that they would not locate me, to obliviate anybody I talk to. It's exhausting, I won't be able to do it much longer. I talked to Dumbledore, he advised me to lie low for a while. I don't want to disappear like that, especially now, when you just came back from god knows where, but..."

Harry felt that Sirius was feeling guilty about leaving, and he did not want that. If Sirius decided to stay in order not to hurt Harry's feelings, and would get caught because of that... He attempted an encouraging smile.

"It's OK, Sirius. Don't worry about me. I am alright. And I can always write to you, can't I?" The smile slipped a bit when he saw a negative headshake.

"I will have to go into hiding, Harry. Real hiding. It means no owls, no visitors. This is the only way to become untraceable. Dumbledore says that now, with Voldemort's corpse to confirm his resurrection, they will begin a true manhunting for the remaining Death Eaters. All the more risk that I will get caught, too. And you most probably will be receiving extra attention now. What if some particularly curious reporter places a tracing charm on owls you will be sending?" He smiled a little when he saw Harry's scowl at the mention of extra attention.

Leaning forward, Sirius patted Harry on the shoulder again. "It will all work out, alright? Just give it time. And Dumbledore will find a way for me to come back."

Not really listening to the words of consolation that he should be offering rather than receiving, Harry asked: "So you will be there all alone?"

"No, Remus is coming with me. There's a lot of time we need to make up for."

One more person was leaving, then. Harry sort of hoped that he would at least have Remus. But it was good that they would go into hiding together. Harry suspected that after twelve years in Azkaban staying on his own would be too hard for his godfather.

Harry did not cry in front of Sirius, although he desperately wanted to, because he promised Sirius "to be strong". He did not cry when he told Ron and Hermione about this, pretending that it was a temporary problem, and Sirius would be back soon. Now he was on his own, and there was no reason for being strong. Nobody could see him now, and yet he did not cry. He wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to bang his head on the bedpost, wanted to beg for Sirius' forgiveness for not being able to stand for him during the press-conference. He was not a good godson, he was supposed to have done better than mumbling something incoherent and nodding to Lucius Malfoy's words, to change something, to protest, to help Sirius... He kept tossing in the bed, wrapping himself in the sheets and ceasing to feel the difference between frustration at his own inability to help his godfather and irritation caused by the increasing itch. Harry tried to disentangle himself from the cocoon of bedsheets he somehow created, and fell from the bed.

_A/N: Well, not a very eventful chapter, but it had to be done__. Your comments are very appreciated. _

_**Kindli** - I can hardly wait myself *g* Thanks again for your feedback! And also I would like to express my deepest gratitude to: **Calmardaa**, **Chibi Zen-chan**, **MOI** (Lucius is neither good nor bad. He is... Lucius. I never saw him as a total bastard, that much I can tell you. I am not sure about Lucius' POV here, but he will make an appearance in this story again. And I will definitely have more of Lucius in my other stories that are currently in work), **rowenna**, **Fanny chan, Anni**. *hugs all her reviewers* I love you all!_


	8. Accommodating Anew part 2

**FINDING HOME**

**Chapter 6. Accommodating anew (part 2)**

The shower did not help much. Cold water provided a little relief, but the nice cooling sensation stayed in effect only as long as the water was running down his skin. As soon as Harry dried himself with a towel, itching returned. It was probably a good thing, Harry pondered, that the water in the students' bathrooms was not warmed up at nights. If he went to the prefects' bathroom, he would have just dove into the pool filled with hot water, and the effect on his skin would have been even less. Ice-cold streams were not as pleasant as a warm bath, but better when it came to distracting from itch.

Harry was not sure if hot water was provided by a spell or if it was a house elves' responsibility to heat it in boilers in the school dungeons. Hopefully it was a spell. If his latter guess were correct, then Hermione would probably make him and Ron take only cold showers, as a protest action against exploitation of house elves. Or maybe she would make Harry an exception, as he was sort of a former house elf?

He did not want to go back to the dorm. A cold shower agitated him, and there was no point in returning to bed only to twist in it for one or two hours, fighting the nervousness and the itch that would undoubtedly resume soon.

And that was how Harry found himself thirty minutes later in the Great Hall. He entered and stopped, raising his head. It was his fifth year at Hogwarts and still he could not get used to seeing sky above his head while staying inside. Grey clouds were sliding in the dark blue sky, not revealing stars. The picture seemed so realistic that Harry almost expected to feel the rush of cold wind on his skin, but the climate in the Great Hall was the same as in the corridor.

Harry perched at the edge of the Gryffindor table. The seat was chosen partially out of habit, partially out of fear that somebody from the Hogwarts staff would enter the hall. Harry never bothered to check the rules, and he did not know if it was prohibited to sit anywhere but at one's house's table. He also had doubts about legitimacy of being in the Great Hall so early in the morning and his strategically chosen position in the corner allowed him not to be too evident. It would probably be safer to stay hidden under the Invisibility Cloak's cover, but Harry took it off because of the itch. Light as the cloak was, it still provided extra pressure on the overly sensitive skin on his shoulders and back.

He unfolded the paper he stumbled across in the corridor, probably forgotten by some student. It was a few days old issue of _Daily Prophet_, reporting on miraculous rescue of the Elf Boy – _oh lovely, another nickname to turn my life in a living hell_. But neither Harry, nor Voldemort's demise were the center of the front page article.

Half of the page was occupied by a photograph that made Harry cringe inwardly. It was a shyly smiling young man dressed in a Hogwarts robe. Harry did not even need to read the headline _The Story of a Silent Hero_ to recognize him.

His eyes skittered down the article. _Lonely boy…_ _the tragic fate…_ _talented pupil…_ _brilliant mind… never got over the horrible betrayal…_ _stoically enduring all hardships_… Harry pushed the paper farther down the table, feeing a little nauseous. What a crap! How could they proclaim him a hero if even his old friends could not repeat his name without a grimace of disgust? 

Harry assumed that Wormtail had intended to let him escape and then disappear himself, never facing Voldemort. With a mind of a house elf, Harry would not have tried to put up a fight, he would have run away, and Voldemort would most likely – as well as Harry's friends – never have found out what happened to Harry Potter. Or Pettigrew could have been planning to capture Harry later and present to people as a proof of his loyalty. It was probably for the best that Peter had not survived. Harry had a hard time coping with the fact that Pettigrew had been pronounced a hero post mortem, he doubted he would have been able to cope with a live one. 

Dumbledore explained to Harry how he supposed the events had developed, with Peter Pettigrew stunning the Dark Lord – the poor rat must have been maddened with fear to attempt hexing one of the most powerful dark wizards of today – and Harry instinctively using his newly found elvian magic for self-protection.

He did not know and would probably never find out what motivated Pettigrew to try and save him from Voldemort, but it would not be enough to redeem the man. Never. Had it been the last spark of conscience in the corrupted mind, or the pull of the wizard's debt Pettigrew had been carrying with him for over a year, it could not have been a sufficient payment for lives interrupted, for lives ruined. It could easily have been another example of Wormtail's cowardice, the cowardice that had forced him first to betray people who trusted him and then not giving him enough strength to send their son to a grave as well. Or maybe it was a ploy of earning himself points in the public's eyes by saving the hero of the wizarding society. Or…

Harry sat like that for a while, coherent thoughts about Pettigrew gradually transforming into chaotic images his memory procured: Ron protecting his rat from Crookshanks, the black dog chasing the small creature, hate mixed with grief in Sirius' and Professor Lupin's eyes… 

Suddenly a soft rustling sound made Harry jerk up his head. The words "Is someone here?" froze on his lips. There indeed was someone, and Harry did not even need a second look to recognize his unwelcome companion. The almost white hair was a dead giveaway. Irritation he would have felt a few months ago about this intrusion – never mind neither of them had a right to reside in the Great Hall at nighttime, it was still an intrusion into Harry's territory – was nothing compared to what Harry felt now. He unwillingly had spent several hours in Lucius Malfoy's company, and it had been all he could have taken of this family. As soon as Malfoy Senior had left the hospital, hundreds of counterarguments have come to Harry's head. He had had _no_ reason to listen to Lucius Malfoy, nodding as a little marionette to his words at press conferences and allowing others to call the bastard his rescuer. He could not even hate the man for exploiting him like this – he practically asked for it, offering no serious resistance to the unconvincing blackmail.

But this was no Lucius bloody Malfoy, this was the annoying rodent who had been poisoning Harry's life at Hogwarts since day one. Harry found himself swiftly approaching the table at which Malfoy was sitting before he even made the choice between a hex and a punch. Maybe he should try both. Two assaults – one punishment. And what was a detention and loss of some points on his second day at Hogwarts compared to the pleasure of finally venting the accumulated rage?

Harry stopped in front of Malfoy, the threatening expression on his face slowly changing into a perplexed one. The boy did not pay the slightest attention to him, continuing to produce the rustling sound that caught Harry's attention in the first place. The sound originated from the piece of parchment on which Draco Malfoy was industriously scribbling something. There was no way Malfoy could not have noticed Harry's approach, yet still he did not raise his head. Meaning that he was deliberately ignoring Harry. This conclusion did nothing to mollify Harry's anger.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded in a low voice. He already anticipated the flow of the conversation after this remark: some taunting, some sarcastic responses, a swift exchange of insults climaxing in a full-fledged fight.

He did not expect a calm answer, "Writing a report to my father."

"About…? How many students you insulted in a week or how many Death Eater wannabes you managed to recruit?" Not the best way to conduct a conversation, but Harry _wanted_ a fight.

"Now that would be highly impractical, wouldn't it, Potter?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Why gather followers if there is no one to follow?"

That felt good. A fight with Malfoy was definitely a fine way to start another year at Hogwarts. "Oh, how should I know? Perhaps your father is dreaming about putting himself in charge finally, after so many years spent licking another wizard's boots?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly. 'I'll make sure you will have an opportunity to repeat it in my father's presence. And what are _you_ doing here, Potter? Let me guess: you arrived here first to watch how a breakfast should be properly served and then help your kin to cook our meals? Good idea. Maybe you will finally do something useful for once in your life."

"You…!" Harry spluttered, now feeling sorry that he had not prepared some good insults beforehand instead of rushing here. Then his eyes fell to the parchment, and he decided that actions were better than words.

Harry snatched the paper from the table. He only managed to catch a few phrases: "brought in by McGonagall", "had a dinner", "went to shower after midnight", before Malfoy jerked it out of his hand.

"What the hell is this, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, suddenly getting an uneasy feeling.

"Like I said, this is a report to my father," Malfoy replied serenely.

"About…?"

"About you, naturally."

"WHAT?! You-you are spying on me?!"

"Not spying, _Harry_. Father was worried about your state of health and asked me to watch you for a while. You should be grateful, really. It's not like you've done anything to deserve such treatment."

"Damn right I do not deserve it! I want my life to be completely Malfoy-free! Nobody gave you or your father the right to spy on me. So get lost, or I will tell the headmaster!"

"Oh really? And what are you going to tell him exactly, Potter?" Malfoy smirked. "That you are stalked by the fellow student who cares about your mental and physical health?"

There was some truth in Malfoy's words, Harry admitted to himself. What could he complain about? If he reported to Dumbledore about Malfoy's activity, he would look incredibly stupid. It was not like Malfoy had done something very incriminating, like breaking into Harry's dorm or stealing his clothes. Although this was probably not very far ahead, Harry mentally added.

"If I ever catch you spying on me again, I will personally hex you, Malfoy," Harry promised.

"By all means, go ahead. It will most certainly simplify my task for a couple of nights. At least I will know for sure where to find you – serving detentions with Snape or Filch."

Malfoy had a point. Again. But it was not in Harry's habit to back off. "I think I will risk a detention for such a pleasure."

The Slytherin shrugged and rose from his seat. He began collecting his belongings, clearly indicating that the conversation was coming to an end. "Whatever, Potter. A more reasonable person would be thankful for being offered help in dealing with seizures, but it's up to you, of course…" 

When it registered in Harry's mind that the remark had not been meant as an insult, Draco Malfoy was already at the entrance. "Seizures? What the hell are you talking about? Malfoy? Hey, Malfoy!"

_A/N: Well, this is it. A bit longer than usual and I finally managed to hold Harry and Draco in one room for a while. I would do it sooner, but Mr Malfoy forbade me to defile his son like this in the Malfoy Manor. So I had to move to Hogwarts :) If anyone waited for this chapter to come out for too long (not that I received many requests to update, mind you!), I apologize. To compensate you I can offer you my standalone story The Best Friend's Confession. I had written it for Harry/Draco FQF in April and only now posted it here, at ff.net._

_As usual, please review if you have a free minute. I would love to know what you think. _


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